Blood Feast (1963)

DIRECTED BY HERSCHELL GORDON LEWIS
BOX OFFICE SPECTACULARS, INC.

Here is where we should begin our disquisition on the ephemeral nature of what constitutes art vis-à-vis garbage, and engage in deep contemplation on the revealed substance and its relation to the Ideal, and how mere imitation or re-creation can only hope to further distance us from the knowledge of this state of perfection. We should, but we won’t, because gore impresario, auteur loon and marketing maven Herschell Gordon Lewis would probably laugh and point at us. His frankly ridiculous tale of catering a Society party with an “authentic Egyptian Feast” as a hopeful means of reviving the goddess Ishtar via cannibalism features some impossibly wooden acting, hilariously half-assed set dressing, excessively expository dialogue, indubitably fake blood, transparently ersatz makeup and FX, rudimentary cinematography, et cetera et cetera et cetera et cetera. (And in the midst of life we are in debt, et cetera.) Blows the doors off the insipid remake I panned a few weeks back, ably demonstrating the difference between a “bad” movie and the truly wretched.

WHY DID I WATCH THIS MOVIE?

Well, I watched the other one, didn’t I. You know, years back, I toiled at a mail-order company, the offbeat small-business-owner of which enjoyed visiting Lewis’s marketing website. He also enjoyed pointing out Lewis’s track record of proven “pull.”

SHOULD YOU WATCH THIS MOVIE?

It’s barely over an hour long!

HIGHLIGHT AND LOW POINT

It’s barely over an hou – yeah, just joshing, sorry. Scott H. Hall and Mal Arnold, as “police captain” and “Fuad Ramses,” respectively, suffice for shorthand. Hall is so terrible a thespian he shoulda been a “star” for Ed Wood, Jr., and Arnold is an expressionistic delight – the reductio ad absurdum of the Method. (And the sine qua non of any effort like this one.)

RATING FROM OUTER SPACE: B

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